The Heart of a Villian
by Iarejedi
Summary: Just a short fic of Col. Tavington. A thought i had while watching one of the deleted scenes. Hope you like it. ;)
1. The Fields

            A/N: This is just a very lil fic about dear Colonel Tavington, whom I love so very much. Well, more like I love Jason Isaacs and all the characters he played. It takes place during one of the cut scenes in The Patriot. So if you want to know which exactly it's from go watch them. ;) I think it gives Will dear a lil more human qualities. He seems such a nasty git in the movie. You have to wonder what is going on his mind and what happened to make him that way. Anyways…hope you enjoy this. And of course don't forget to review. The reviews are greatly appreciated. 

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The blossoming fields of pink flowers were quiet on that beautiful, chilly morning. Birds sang softly in the forest not far away. The sun shone its golden rays over the tranquil land, slowly warming the countryside and evaporating the dew from the grass and surrounding fields. The only beings intruding on this peaceful majesty were two red coated officers, Colonel William Tavington and Captain Wilkins. Both were British officers under General Cornwallis at this crucial period in the war against the colonials for independence. They were however not here by the General's orders. Tavington was once more ignoring orders and doing just as he pleased. His independent nature and disregard of direct orders was a constant thorn in Cornwallis's side. 

            At the moment, however, none of that was on Tavington's mind. He was enjoying and letting his mind get lost in the beauty of the countryside. For one brief, pure moment all his worries and cares melted away. His harsh, bitter demeanor was broken for a few minutes, as he caressed the delicate petals of a pink flower with tips of his fingers. It was soft and smooth against the rough calluses on his fingers. His frosty breath tickled the flower's petals causing them to dance a little against his fingers. The soft pink of the flower contrasted sharply with the bright blood red and green of his uniform. 

               "Beautiful country," he said, softly, speaking mostly to himself.

            He truly did admire America for its extensive lands and breath-taking splendor. It held so many secrets and promises for a whole new way of life. There was still so much to be discovered about it. It was not gray, cold, and uncaring like England was. He pushed those thoughts aside. He would not let them ruin his few precious seconds of something close to happiness. He looked up at the pale, blue sky, almost the exact color of his eyes, his face was clear of all previous troubles. For once, his handsome face was not marred by furrowed brows, thin lipped frown, or ever present cruel smirk. His brilliant blue eyes were bright and his brown hair shone in the morning light. In that moment, he was truly handsome.

               "Everything grows here," he went on, lifting his face higher towards the sun's golden rays. The warm beams of light washed over him, silhouetting him slightly against the blue sky. His eyes had taken on a far off look, as though he were looking into another time. Perhaps he was reflecting on some distant childhood memory of better times or the not so distant future, for his expression had become thoughtful.

            A second later, the spell about him was broken as a piercing scream rent the morning air. He blinked, bringing his mind back to the present with a jolt, and blew out a deep irritated breath which misted in the cold, morning air. The present, along with all its cares, desires, and worries had come back down to crush his spirit once more. His peaceful few minutes of bliss were shattered by the harsh tones of reality. It was time to go back to being an officer in the British Army and do his duties. 

            He turned reluctantly, towards Captain Wilkins. Wilkins was looking at him with a rather odd, yet expectant look. He had not known Colonel Tavington very long, but what he did known or heard was that the Colonel was rarely, in fact never, a normal, calm individual. This little lapse in character had thrown Wilkins off. Tavington was no gentleman by English standards, that much was widely known. The Dragoons feared him and his infamous wrath, thus making them fiercely loyal and willing to do anything he asked as long as it meant living for another day. Tavington was not nick named the Butcher as a joke. He was cruel, merciless, and considered to be heartless by many. That was why Wilkins was rather wary of the strange shift in mood from the Colonel and had said nothing the entire time Tavington had spoken. He also did not wish to lose his head because of interrupting Tavington. 

            Colonel Tavington paused, when he had turned around, to gaze briefly at the rundown little house from which the scream had emitted. The house stood behind the fields, looking forlorn and in need of care. He regarded it with a rather disgusted look, still unwilling to leave the serene fields behind. He shoved his frivolous desires to the back of his mind. He glanced over at Wilkins, who was waiting obediently for his orders, then began to walk in a long business-like stride from the flowering fields.

            He was an officer, he reminded himself, and he did not have time for silly, childish fancies. He also did not desire to revisit the past any longer. It held to many lost, sad memories of better times before his father squandered the family money, destroyed the Tavington name in England, and ruined his inheritance. The Tavington estate in England no longer existed. He had nothing there to go back to. He was here in America for a reason, not just to fight for Britain. He was here to gain honor and glory, so that he may once more walk amongst the hierarchy of England with his head held high, and not bowed in shame. He would gain what he wanted by any means necessary, be they cruel in other peoples eyes or not, and he would be damned before anything stopped him from getting what he wanted. 

            He would prove Cornwallis wrong by handing him Benjamin Martin and his militia's heads on a silver platter. He had never lost a battle, or backed down from a challenge. He certainly would not start now. Hell, it was his efforts that had contributed mostly to where Cornwallis was in the war now. Cornwallis would no longer be able to deny that he was indeed a superior officer that deserved some praise once he brought in the Ghost. The General would then be forced to give him what he desired most, a piece of land to call his own. Then perhaps maybe he could settle down and be able to forget about all that he had suffered through over the years. He would make Cornwallis eat all the ill words he had ever said about or to him. Soon, he hoped and oh! how he would relish that moment.

            That thought brought a grim smile to his cold, handsome face and sent a shiver down Captain Wilkins spine. 

               _Yes, very soon,_ he smiled, frigidly. 

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	2. Brutality thy name is Tavington

A/N: this is the end of the scene that I wrote and did not finish. I was inspired to write it thanks to a reviewer. You know who you are! Thanks a lot! Hope y'all enjoy it and don't forget to review! 

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He strode quickly to the little house, and ascended the steps of the porch with practiced grace. He disregarded the men standing, at gun point by his men, off to the side in the yard. He also ignored the fact that Wilkins was still following close behind him. He flung the door wide open and barged right in. Subtly thy name was not Tavington. He paused, mid-step, for half a second and looked around. His lip curled up in a disdainful sneer at the quaint, yet messy house. It looked as bad as the outside to him, in need of much care and repair. His boots made a dull thud sounds on the wooden floor as he walked across the front room not bothering to close the door behind him. 

He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, glancing around quickly. Being in the Dragoons had taught him many things, and one of them was always to be cautious. He stood there a long moment, framed against the sunlight from the open front door. He twiddled a sprig of purple flowers idly about in his fingers. He would have looked almost benevolent as he had out in the fields had not been for the lingering sneer still on his face. He was completely nonplussed by the bloody body draped on the table. His eyes glanced down to watch the blood dripping from the man's lifeless fingers in morbid fascination. He snapped his gaze up to meet Captain Bordon's, as he turned quickly from the window he had been looking out of by the fire place. Clearly, the Captain was surprised and a bit fearfully to see him. 

   "Well?" Tavington asked, fingering the petals of the flowers. 

Captain Bordon moved away from the window and over to the table the dead man was currently occupying. "I'm sorry, sir," he lifted up the head of the dead man and let it drop with distaste. "He died."

   _As if that were not obvious to me already,_ Tavington thought with a sigh as he gave Bordon a condescending look. Bordon swallowed, praying Tavington would not give him another verbal beating about being a thick headed dolt. Tavington did not feel like taking the time to do so at the moment. Bordon already knew what he thought of him. Tavington sighed, softly, and shook his head slightly as he began to walk around the table. He tossed the flowers to the floor in his anger and irritation, forgetting about them before they hit the ground. The flowers lay crumbled on the floor, their beautiful petals scattered. Tavington was now completely back to being the "Butcher." The flowers seemed to be the last tie between that man and the quieter, less harsh man Wilkins had seen in the fields. Wilkins glanced down at the flowers as he stepped into the room behind Tavington. 

The Colonel could easily sense Wilkins uneasy. Tavington did not really like Wilkins much because he was a colonial and he did not trust the man's intentions either. Wilkins seemed not the type to want to get caught up in a war no matter how brave and ambitious he thought he was. Tavington did not quite understand what had made Wilkins join the British side. He shrugged the thought off. Well, here was a perfect opportunity to see how loyal he was and how well he could take seeing his fellow colonials being brutalized. 

He walked over to the table, glancing over at Bordon. Bordon's eyes betrayed his fear and his expression was one of anxiety and uncertainty. He seemed to become even more ill at ease from the look in his Tavington's eyes. He swallowed hard as Tavington glared at him, challenging his courage. Tavington enjoyed seeing his subordinate fidget nervously because of him. Bordon had been with him long enough to know that Tavington had something cruel in mind. He did not wish to find out what.

A grim smile touched Tavington's lips, as he grabbed the side of the table. "Bring me the other one!" he ordered, as heaved the table up in a sharp motion. The dead man's body flipped off the table and landed with a satisfying thunk in the floor. The other rebel would hopefully give them the information this one had refused not to. He let go of the table, letting it drop back to the ground with a brief slam. 

   _One less colonial scum to worry about, one more small step in gaining his glory and piece of land, _he thought with pleasure.

He turned away from the table and shot Wilkins a piercing look. He wanted to see if what he had done had upset the younger man. Wilkins stood up a little straighter, as if to show Tavington he was not at all upset. Tavington was no fool; he could see the shock lurking behind that carefully composed expression. Good. Fear made a man respect his betters. Wilkins could be taught. 

The other rebel was dragged into the room, held between two of his officers. He did not turn to look at the man until he had given Wilkins one more long hard stare. He heard the heavy thud and jangle of coins spilling over the table and turned to look at them. It was a rather large amount of gold. No rebel ever had this much gold unless it was ill gotten. A sneer began to grow on his handsome face once more as he took in the rebel's dirty, worn clothes and grim covered face. A pitiful excuse for a human being, such men were disgraceful. 

   "This one's a rebel and thief," Bordon growled in a deep tone, tossing several more coins across the table. Bordon spoke with obvious disdain. He could not stand robbers. He found them to be the most detestable, low life type of scum alive. Tavington was inclined to agree with him. If you could not even make honest money what was the point of living? 

            Tavington looked back at the rebel. The rebel glared back at him, refusing to show any fear. Well, Tavington had to give him that much. At least the man had some bravado.

               "I'm not a thief!" the man snapped, and held his head up high with pride. "I'm a patriot." 

            Tavington smirked at him. Men and their senseless pride, it always ended up to be the death of them. Cornwallis' pride would get him in the end as well. Tavington just hoped he would be there when that day came. He would laugh right in the pompous General's face.

               "I wonder how patriotic you'd be if I gave you the chance to walk out of here alive," as he spoke he walked around the table once more, picking up a gold coin. He indicated the rest of the satchel of gold on the table still stained with his friend's blood. Hopefully this fool was stupid enough to buy it. He, of course, would never give this scum money that rightfully belonged to England. 

               "All you have to do is tell me where to find Benjamin Martin and his rabble," he finished, cocking one eyebrow up at the rebel and giving him an if-you-know-what-was-good-for-you-you'll-listen-to-me look. The rebel looked at him in surprise as though sizing him to see how sincere he was being then began to smile. A little at first, then it broadened. Good, he was buying his bluff. The rebel looked down at the coins with a greed look in his eyes, then over to Bordon, who smiled back clearly thinking the rebel was taking the bait. Tavington was fool enough to believe the man would as well. He shot Bordon a knowing smirk as the rebel turned back to him. He had missed the glitter of steel that had flashed in the man's eyes. The rebel looked at him, nodding his head as though to agree. Tavington's lips actually lifted up into a humorless smile. He had the scum right where he wanted him. He thought this to soon.

            Suddenly the look of greed and consent vanished from the rebel's face, and total disgust replaced. Tavington was a little taken aback by the hatred he saw burning in those hard eyes. He had not met such stubbornness in a long time. He was not quick enough to react to the quick change of character. A second later, before he could avoid it or see it coming, the rebel spit in his face and it splattered across his face in a nasty splash. He shut his eyes and screwed his face up in disgust. He was rarely taken by surprise anymore. Yes, the man was brave but an idiot. He had played Tavington extremely well. Instead of him getting the satisfaction it had been the rebel. This one had been quite a good actor. Tavington was outraged with himself for falling for the man's act. He had let himself be taken in because of his own eagerness. He had been to quick to believe this man would buy his bluff. That little sojourn in the fields had softened him to much. He would not let that happen again. He did not enjoy being out smarted or played with. The rebel would pain dearly for that.

               "Do your worst," the man growled in a low voice.

            Tavington could not see his face as he turned to wipe the spittle from his face. He heard Bordon jump forward and slam the rebel's head into the table with a bang. He hoped that had hurt the vile git somewhat. Tavington turned back to the rebel with a spiteful sneer. 

               "I always do," He replied, with a cruel smirk. The rebel's torture would be much worse than his friend's had been. This man had no idea what his worst was. No idea. 

            Oh, he would take great pleasure in breaking this one before he let him die. No man crossed him and lived to tell the tale. The man would regret the idiocy with which he had behaved. He would die wishing he'd chosen the easy way out. Tavington would make sure of all this. This was going to be quite a satisfying experience. He would never underestimate another rebel again. Yes, this rebel had taught him a lesson. Brutality worked best, people took advantage of one's good nature or blind intentions. There was no room in war for being a gentleman. It would get him no where. He wouldn't put anything past them anymore. They were smarter then he had given them credit for. Luckily the error of his thinking had been rectified before it something much worse had happened. Otherwise, Tavington might have had a worse situation on his hands later.

               "You've taught me a valuable lesson, _friend," Tavington smiled down at the man. "You should be proud about that. You most likely just sealed more of your friends' deaths. Now let me teach you a little lesson." _

            He saw that obstinate look waver for just a moment on the rebel's face. Yes, this would be most satisfying. 

Finis!! For real this time. ;)


End file.
